


and so i write of the unchanged

by ammunitionist



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Could Be Canon, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ammunitionist/pseuds/ammunitionist
Summary: schofield writes the letter.blake, surprisingly, writes back.
Relationships: Lance Corporal Schofield/ Lieutenant Blake, William Schofield/ Joseph Blake
Comments: 23
Kudos: 216





	and so i write of the unchanged

when schofield mails the letter off to blake's mother, he doesn't expect much of anything in return.

probably just a note, 'thank you' written in shaking hand, maybe a little more. doubtful, though, as he felt he encompassed the answers to any questions mrs. blake might've had in his letter. it was two pages long, front and back, lined with narrow black handwriting.

it took him two nights to write.

the first draft was too personal. he felt himself dipping into unspeakables as his hand still moved by candlelight, written in the blank spaces when schofield couldn't force himself to sleep, knowing he would be awakened by nightmares hours later. he couldn't mail that, not to blake's mother. she would be appalled.

it went into the garbage pail by his cot.

the second draft is more reasonable. schofield sticks to the facts, blake's last words ringing in his ears as he copies them down, nearly verbatim.

**_tell her I wasn't scared._ **

_he was brave and unflinching to the end._

**_tell them I love them._ **

_he loved you all very much._

schofield adds other things. he wants so desperately for blake to be remembered. he wants that poor, young soldier, who died of nothing but a bleeding heart, to be remembered.

_he went calmly. I was holding him._

_his death was not in vain. he saved my life and allowed me to save your older son._

_his eyes were so piercing. I felt like he knew me from the very beginning._

schofield's pen scribbles over the last line suddenly and he curses, non-dominant hand gripping handfuls of sandy hair and tugging. it seemed like every time he finally had the words, he could finally walk the line between embellishment and the truth, something bubbled up from the depraved parts of his soul and forced its way out through his pen. his own selfishness was preventing him from writing a letter to this poor, grieving mother. schofield couldn't even come close to detaching himself.

it almost made him want to vomit.

the second night is the one he finally writes the letter. that previous day, he had been handed his letter of leave.

the anger let him clear his mind and write honestly.

_dear mrs. blake,_

_my name is lance corporal william schofield. I was…_

his hand stills. what even was he?

_I was friends with your younger son, thomas blake. he was one of the best soldiers I've ever known._

_he asked me to write you before he died._

_he was brave and stoic until the very end. I truly believe that he was not afraid. his death was calm and peaceful, and his body was laid to rest near a field of cherry trees._

that part was also true. schofield feels the familiar stab of guilt resurface at the fact he hadn't buried blake. it would have been easy, too- the earth was soft there, and the battalion might've offered to help.

_he loved you all very much. his brevity, candor, and courageousness saved my life and many others. his wit was unmatched, and he could bring a smile to the face of any soldier, in any weather._

schofield feels a smile creeping onto his own face. he had never been a man for humor, but something about blake's infectious boyishness just didn't permit schofield's apathy.

his hand stills on the paper.

_thomas did not die in vain. he helped me reach your older son, joseph, in the devonshire regiment. I successfully delivered orders to stop the attack and saved nearly 1600 lives._

_I could not have succeeded without him._

_yours,_

_lance corporal william schofield._

the letter burns a hole in will's pocket for the entire boat ride home. the more he has it, the more he wants rid of it, guilt at the little white lies and even the truths within making his skin itch.

 _i could have saved blake_ is the prevailing thought.

his nightmares seem to concur.

when they finally land, the port teeming with family members waiting for their soldiers to return, schofield brushes through the jubilant masses and finds the nearest post office.

he even pays for express shipping. once done, he begins to head home.

will had never married.

he didn’t own a home, didn't pay for an apartment- it was graduation and then the military. the war made it easy to have nothing to come back to. it made it easy to tell himself that.

in his little blue tin are two pictures.

his sister, and her daughters.

she had promised him board should he ever accept leave, and he (knowing that he would never take leave, not willingly) had absently accepted.

now, as he gathers his things and starts off for the west end, he feels rather foolish.

kate and john richards lived in a modest little brownstone on a side street in london. it was nice, a good place to raise children, and, to schofield, a domestic death trap. he couldn't imagine living here, not now-- the thought was too much.

his skin feels like it fits wrong that entire first week.

that entire week, until he receives the letter.

the return address is tom's.

only, it's not tom's, because tom is dead. tom's return address is a cherry field somewhere in germany.

it's addressed to him, from a joseph blake. his brain fills in the blanks.

tom's older brother. the one schofield had spoken to before collapsing under a tree.

it read:

_lance corporal schofield,_

_thank you for writing my mother. your words have given her peace in a way I could only hope to do. she reads it nightly and keeps it on her person at all times. I can only show my gratitude with words, it seems._

_I see by your return address that you are here in england, now? I myself am on a very forced leave. it feels strange to be out of commission. I hope to be on the first rotation out next month, though they say the war isn't long, now._

schofield skims over the rest of it. it seems like mostly casual chat, until he reaches the end.

_will, I apologize if this is out of pocket. I know it may seem that way. we have barely spoken, after all._

_would you like to come visit cambridge sometime? the countryside is better for soldiers, and most of the men I knew here are dead or at the front._

_we have a grave for thomas. it may give you some peace to see it._

_yours,_

_lieutenant joseph blake._

schofield sets the letter down in disbelief.

he thinks about his dreams. he thinks about how thomas had looked a little different in some of them.

he thinks about how joseph's face looked in the faux candlelight of his mind.

william picks up a pen and begins.

**Author's Note:**

> heyy guys!! this is my second 1917 fic, and it's quite a bit longer than my first. i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> again, comments appreciated :)


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